


Storytime

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Author!Greg, Don’t copy to another site, Enthusiastic Consent, Fan!Mycroft, Grinding, M/M, Rough Sex, SO MUCH BANTER, So much flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 06:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17637734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: Greg meets Mycroft at a reading for his newest book. Mycroft is a big fan of his work... and other things.





	Storytime

There were worse ways to spend a lovely spring afternoon, Greg mused. Even though he would be inside for the duration of the event. He was standing near the small stage that had been set up, fiddling with the collar of his shirt, which had become crooked on his drive over to the bookstore, and now stubbornly refused to bend back into shape. Well, it would match his head of ruffled hair, he mused and smiled to himself. 

He looked out at the room, where the seats had started to fill in, as the employees of the store had opened the section of the airy building, which had been reserved for his reading. A large banner with the cover of his new collection of short stories had been hung on the wall behind the stage – an oil painting showing a vast desert landscape and a small oasis in the foreground. He had fallen in love with the picture at first sight, and seeing it blown up like this was actually quite marvellous.

“Greg?” his agent asked, and he looked over to see her stand on the stage, holding out a small bottle of water. “We’ll be starting in about five minutes.”

“Ah, great,” Greg replied. “Thanks, Sally.”

“There’s a waiting list, apparently.”

Greg shook his head. “Can you imagine? If you’d told me that three years ago, I would’ve called you crazy.”

“You did, remember? Called me crazy for taking a chance on you. Not the best way to start off a business relationship,” Sally said with a laugh, which made her head of curly hair bob and the lines around her eyes crinkle. “You don’t need security yet, so don’t let this get to your head.”

“Noted,” Greg said and finally gave up on his collar.

Sally nodded and turned around to approach some other people. Greg looked out over the room again. The seats were now almost full. Roughly fifty people could fit in this part of the shop, where the displays had been put to the side to allow for the reading in between the shelves. The windows overhead let through the brilliant sunshine, which flickered over the people’s faces as they walked along. 

Greg scanned the crowd, merely out of habit. Sometimes he got a surprise visit from friends, who just showed up at one of his events, curious about what had Greg compelled to quit his job. They usually ended up in some pub or another afterwards. This time, though, he couldn’t see anyone he knew. His eyes wandered over everyone, and he smiled when he saw some younger readers shyly wave at him, his new book in their arms, ready to sign. Then he caught the eye of someone in the very last row, corner seat. Greg’s breath caught in his throat as he was fixed by a more than calculating stare.

The man was tall – which was evident even though he was sitting – primly dressed in a light-grey, three-piece suit. Dark, short hair was neatly sculpted on his head, and it was with some amount of curious sadness that Greg couldn’t tell his eye colour from the distance. He sat straight, though not uncomfortable, hands in his lap, and it was only then that Greg realised that he also clutched a copy of his book. The stranger smiled once, a mixture of amusement and something else that Greg couldn’t place. Greg immediately turned his head away, hoping that his ears hadn’t turned red. He instinctively fumbled with his collar again.

“Mr Lestrade, please take your seat,” a bookshop employee said to him and Greg could only nod, consciously willing for his blood to stay in his head, please. 

He glanced at the man again as he sat down on the stage, next to the moderator. Greg shook his head. No. Concentrate on the event. He looked out over the rest of the crowd, at the excited faces and turned his thoughts on the matter at hand again.

“Thank you very much for joining us today, Mr Lestrade,” the moderator opened the official part of the event.

“It’s an honour to be here. Thank you for inviting me,” Greg replied with his trademark smile. “I’ve been visiting this store so often as a customer, it’s quite extraordinary to be here as an actual author.”

“We’re happy to have you,” the other said with a smile and turned to the crowd. “For those of you that don’t know him, Greg Lestrade is the author of the series simply named ‘500 Crimes’, in which he unravels the mysteries behind ancient crime scenes. Though we’re not quite at 500 yet, are we?”

“I’m afraid not. With this release, the number is 87. But don’t worry, I’ll write them all. Not only because I’m pretty sure there’s a clause for a contract killer somewhere in my agreement if I don’t do it,” Greg replied and smiled at the laughter, which came exactly where he expected had. He glanced at the stranger in the last row and was somehow gratified to see him with an amused smile.

“Your fans often ask you how you pick the actual cases? What is your process like?”

“I’m a bit of a history nerd, if you couldn’t tell. I’m not interested in the artifacts when they end up in a museum, but rather in situ. Luckily for me, excavations are usually well-documented, so you get a sense of the life that has happened in that place. As you can probably tell from my stories, I’m mostly interested in crime, which has happened in ancient times. As a boy I saw the skull of a man with a rusted sword stuck in it in a museum, and I immediately wondered what could’ve led up to this. So I construct short stories around actual archaeological finds.”

“Your stories are not only engaging, but also valuable because they’re historically accurate,” the moderator said.

“That’s right,” Greg said with a nod. “The actual crime often gains a few additional fictional elements to make it into more of a dramatic story, but I take care in describing the environment and circumstances to match the latest historical research. My tales skirt the line between fiction and non-fiction, as they tell stories to help you get a better grasp of history through the eyes of the people that lived it with much the same problems as you have today. Fraud, jealousy, theft, and so on…”

They continued to talk about the current selection, which was set in Mesopotamia. Greg loved discussing his favourite topic and soon forgot about the stranger in the last row as he gesticulated and told a few outrageous facts that he had learned about in his research. After he answered a few questions from the audience, it was time for the reading. He had chosen a story about a woman who had felt cheated by a priest and killed him one night in revenge for her failed crops. The story had been constructed out of the fact that the body of the priest had been found in what wasn’t an official graveyard and that small figurines of his god had been broken and strewn about his corpse.

After this it was finally time for the signing. Greg settled in behind the small table on the stage, knowing that the store would open the line for about an hour, even beyond the guests who had been able to get a seat at the reading. He was happy with that. It was still fantastical that anyone would want to have his autograph at all…

As the queue filled up, he looked over to see if the intriguing stranger was joining them, but interestingly enough he kept sitting, just watching, hands relaxed on the hardcover copy of Greg’s book. Even after the line shrunk to just a few people, he didn’t move. Greg frowned, but then turned his attention back to the fans. The hour passed in a flash, even though took his time with everyone, even patiently noting down wishes for upcoming collections. It was always curious to see what parts of the world and their history people were passionate about.

Finally the space cleared out. And so did the stranger. Sally was about to approach Greg, when he held up a hand and jumped from the stage. With a few quick steps he had reached the man, who looked at him with wide eyes, evidently not having expected Greg’s approach at all.

“Hi,” Greg said and smiled self-consciously. “I noticed you didn’t have your copy signed?”

“That’s correct,” the man said in a rather deep, but extraordinarily soft voice. “I apologise if I’m out of line–”

“No, no. I just wondered why you would come here and not… you know.”

The man smiled gently. “I don’t usually visit these kind of events. I was merely curious, I suppose.”

“Curious?” Greg asked.

“About you. About what kind of man would write such wonderful stories. Thank you for that short glimpse into your head.”

“I… You’re welcome, I guess. That’s what the event was for, I suppose.”

They looked at each other for a while, Greg daring to stare into the other’s eyes, which were of a dark, stormy blue, and absolutely gorgeous. He hoped that his adoration for the stranger’s looks wasn’t written all over his face, but apparently it was, as the other grinned, ever so slightly.

“Greg Lestrade,” he said and held out a hand. “Even though you already know that.”

“Mycroft Holmes,” the stranger replied and shook his hand.

As their skin met Greg felt like it was melting. How absolutely extraordinary…

“I suppose it would be too cheeky to ask for your autograph now?” Mycroft asked.

“Oh, no, absolutely… let me just…” Greg reluctantly removed his hand and stumbled backwards to make it to the stage.

He jumped up the small step and snatched a pen out of Sally’s hand, who was helping to tidy up the materials. She blinked at him, looked over his shoulder, then back at Greg.

“Look who’s pulling tonight,” she said with a smirk.

“What?” Greg blurted out, his ears red. “No, I–”

“Just make it in time for the radio interview tomorrow morning. That’s all I ask.”

Greg opened his mouth to argue further, but then he wisely closed it again. He nodded and placed a hand on Sally’s arm, squeezed it once. “Thanks, Sal.”

“Good luck.”

Mycroft still waited for him at the back of the room. He handed Greg the book, who opened it on the first page. He hesitated for a second, then looked into Mycroft’s eyes.

“How do you spell your name?” he asked. “I’d hate to get it wrong.”

“M-y-c-r-o-f-t,” the other spelled. “Don’t worry. You wouldn’t be the first.”

Greg scribbled his autograph, but his thoughts were wandering. Should he? Why not. This was a chance he couldn’t pass up. He blew on the ink to dry it and closed the book. When Mycroft reached for it, he drew in back, which made the other frown.

“You’ll get it back if you agree to join me for dinner, Mycroft,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel.

Mycroft’s expression morphed from confusion into incredulity, then into such a gentle look of amusement that it took Greg’s breath away.

“Is that so?” he wondered. “What would compel you to ask?”

“We seem to share an appreciation for similar things in life,” Greg replied.

“So do most of the people who visited your event today,” Mycroft countered.

“Yes, that may be true. But none of them were even half as attractive as you.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened slightly, before he laughed softly. He reached out to take Greg’s hand in his, rubbed a thumb over his palm, which made Greg gasp slightly. Even with only such a slight touch, his world had moved some degrees off its regular path.

“You’re speaking the truth,” Mycroft mused.

“I wouldn’t lie about that,” Greg replied and grasped Mycroft’s hand tighter.

“It just seems fantastical that a man so blindingly gorgeous would ever think a similar thing about me,” Mycroft said with a sad smile.

“Reality is often stranger than fiction. Believe me, I know.”

Mycroft laughed again, such a gentle sound that Greg wanted to bottle it up and keep it forever. He stepped closer to Mycroft, so that their bodies were almost touching. He leaned in, slowly, so that Mycroft had all the time in the world to push him back, retreat, but the other didn’t move. With his lips next to Mycroft’s ear he breathed into it once and could feel a minute shiver from the other’s body.

“Join me for dinner, Mycroft,” he whispered. “You wouldn’t abandon your poor book in this hostage situation?”

“I have no choice, do I?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Fine, I give in to your demands. Though I must admit that I didn’t expect this development at all. You surprise me… Greg.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Mycroft chuckled. “I’m increasingly finding that it is.”

Greg stepped back reluctantly and let go of Mycroft’s hand. “Let me just talk to the people here. Will you wait at the entrance for me?”

“I shall,” Mycroft agreed and turned away with what seemed like an amused look.

Greg watched him until he disappeared behind a shelf, observing how the suit hugged his slender body just so. He felt a rush of heat going through him as he thought of the shiver that had run through Mycroft’s body at his touch. Right. He shouldn’t let the man wait. After thanking the staff profusely, he was all but bullied out of the door by Sally, who made him promise to tell her everything about the night on the next morning.

As he finally left the shop, he could see Mycroft standing outside in the falling light of day, golden rays illuminating his face, eyes closed to soak up the warmth of the sun. Greg almost didn’t want to disturb him. Then Mycroft turned to him and slowly opened his eyes.

“You’ve actually waited for me.”

“Well, you still have my book,” Mycroft replied with a laugh.

“Oh, god, you’re right. Here, take it.”

“Dinner’s off?” Mycroft asked as he received the book and put it under his arm.

“No, no, god no. I just don’t want to have you in a hostage situation throughout. I’d rather you join me because you’re willing.”

“Oh, I’m more than willing,” Mycroft said. “Shall we?”

“Gladly.”

It didn’t take them long to find a small restaurant in an alley, which wasn’t overly crowded at this time of day. As they sat down Mycroft removed his suit jacket, and Greg was treated to a heavenly vision of him in just his waistcoat, which seemed to make him look even more gorgeous, the silk on the back begging to be touched. He cleared his throat and looked down at the menu. As he glanced at Mycroft he was surprised to see the other smirk.

“So you do this often? Chat up your fans at these events?”

Greg shook his head. “No, I… actually I’ve never done that. I’ve had some offers before, but… I didn’t think it was appropriate.”

“You’re lucky that I love being inappropriate,” Mycroft replied.

Greg could only laugh. Laugh so loud and hard that people actually stared. The waiter took their orders while Greg wiped the tears from his eyes. He was still chuckling when Mycroft reached for the water and filled both their glasses.

“What about you? Do this often?”

When their eyes met, Mycroft seemed a bit shy. There was a blush on his face that didn’t match his earlier words. Greg decided that he liked this look a lot.

“Actually, no. Like I said, I was merely curious about you. Your stories captured my imagination like little else, and I haven’t read anything as compelling in years. I felt like I needed to know what kind of person you are.”

“Why didn’t you queue for the signing, then?” Greg wondered.

“I’m afraid my courage deserted me. I’m not used to… what you call chatting people up. And after I saw you talk on that stage, I realised that this is very much what I wanted to do. Plus, I thought I’d merely embarrass myself.”

“Good thing you caught my eye, then.”

“Wondrous, yes…” Mycroft mused. “Fantastical, even.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

The rest of the dinner was a playful, joyous experience. Emboldened by Mycroft’s easy laughs, Greg was all too eager to joke and flirt. It was a spectacle to see the other man blush. Greg marveled at how well they seemed to fit together, trading knowledge and curious facts about history. If he was honest, the wine had gone to his head, because when they had paid for the meal, he reached over the table and put a hand on Mycroft’s.

“Please,” he said quietly, catching Mycroft’s eyes. “Won’t you come home with me?”

Mycroft took a deep breath. “Yes, Greg. I’d love to.”

They walked out of the restaurant, closely together, and after they had gotten into a cab, Mycroft grasped Greg’s hand closely between them. Greg thought that maybe he was nervous, but when he looked into Mycroft’s eyes he could only see anticipation. Arousal. And if that wasn’t a heady rush all in itself…

But it wasn’t until Greg had closed the door of his flat behind him that Mycroft finally put his hands on his body and pushed him into the wall. As their bodies crashed into each other both released a breathy moan. Any thoughts that Greg had about being the one in charge that night quickly – and gladly – went out of the window as Mycroft captured his hands and pressed them against the wall, grinding his hips against Greg’s leg, who groaned as he felt exactly how excited Mycroft was about this adventure.

“Fuck, yes,” he managed to say in between heavy breaths. “You can have me right here if you like, you gorgeous man.”

“You know what? Maybe I will,” Mycroft replied and bit down on Greg’s neck, which made the other curse loudly and rather colourful.

Greg pressed himself upwards, his own hard cock against Mycroft’s, which made the other shiver and falter for a moment, before he growled and pushed back. Their mouths met again and Greg conceded his last bit of resistance in the face of such an eager partner. But then Mycroft drew back.

“On second thought, I’d rather see you spread out underneath me, gasping for my touch,” he said in a deep voice.

“I bet your favourite of my stories is the one in the Roman bathhouse…” Greg said with a laugh. “That line is stolen straight from it.”

“I admit that tale is rather good,” Mycroft purred. “But I prefer the version you posted online…”

“Of course you’ve read the extended version for adults,” Greg laughed. “Is that why you’re so interested in me?”

“One of the initial reasons, perhaps… Don’t tell me you don’t want to act that one out? I’d happily give you everything the lucky man in your story got for his troubles…”

Greg could only nod helplessly. He got another kiss for his agreement and took Mycroft by the hand to lead him to his bedroom. At the door he hesitated for a moment, because he knew exactly what he had written in the story. A fantasy of his, so long carried inside him, he couldn’t refrain from using it. Then he felt Mycroft’s hand on the back of his neck.

“Alright?” he asked softly. “We don’t–”

“Please,” Greg breathed. “Please.”

“Oh, Greg…” Mycroft replied. “I would be my honour.”

It was like this that Greg found himself thrown on his own bed without so much as a warning, the air leaving him in a rush. Mycroft straddled his legs and put both hands on his back, pushing him down into the blanket, his mouth next to his ear. “Stay still, darling,” he whispered.

Greg felt the heat flush all his body, right down to his cock. He moaned deeply, suddenly harder than he had been all night, fisting the blanket. “Yes,” he hissed, his voice more than eager. 

He didn’t know how Mycroft found the lube so quickly in his nightstand, but he was far from being able to think about it properly, so he just accepted his good fortune. Then his trousers were pulled down, just far enough to expose him, and Mycroft pushed his slick fingers in without waiting a second. Greg was a babbling mess in seconds. Pinned to the bed – no matter how willingly – he could do nothing but take, and he reveled in the sensation. Much quicker than he wanted to, he was begging for Mycroft to fuck him, who only too gladly obliged.

As he lined himself up, Mycroft bent down once more, brushing Greg’s hair out of his face with a gesture so gentle, it was at odds with the pressure he still exerted on his body.

“Alright?” he asked.

Greg’s heart clenched. “Yes, please.”

Mycroft pushed in, hard and fast. Greg’s shout was muffled by the blanket.

“Oh god, oh fuck…” he gasped. “So full…”

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Mycroft said, and even though Greg knew it were the words from his story he was still breathless to hear the rest. “Until you come on my cock alone.”

Greg didn’t know how much time passed, as all his senses were in a haze. Everything narrowed down on Mycroft’s cock inside him, on his hands that pressed down his shoulders, on the teeth that bit the skin of his neck just enough to hurt so beautifully. He didn’t even know he was close until it hit him suddenly, and he cried out, convulsing under Mycroft, cock jumping underneath him. He shouted and cursed and moaned, every sensation only heightened by the incredible pressure, by the unrelenting movement. Then he heard Mycroft groan and curse above him, felt him pulse inside, his fingers digging painfully into his skin.

He barely caught his breath as Mycroft carefully pulled out and fell over on his back. Greg looked over, still on his stomach, and their gazes met, sharing a smile.

“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I woke up this morning,” Mycroft mused.

“Maybe just a little?”

“In my wildest dreams…”

“No, I think that was actually my wildest dream just now. You have to pick another.”

Mycroft actually laughed, a bubbling laughter that shook his whole body. Greg couldn’t help but join as he turned around and drew Mycroft into his arms.

“Let’s get out of these clothes. Stay the night,” he said. “And we’ll make yours come true in the morning.”

Mycroft nodded, tracing a finger along Greg’s face, which lingered on his lips. “I’d like that very much.”


End file.
